Jealous Guy
by junejuly15
Summary: Johnlock. Sequel to DOMESTIC BLISS. Sherlock turns out to be quite jealous which really annoys John, but in the end love prevails. Dialogue/Humour/Romance


**Here's the sequel to **_**Domestic Bliss**_**. I just couldn't leave these two alone although that had been my intention - So here's another episode…**

**Enjoy reading!**

**Obviously I don't own anything -**

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><p><strong>Jealous Guy<strong>

'What the hell is wrong with you?' John demanded in a hissing voice.

Sherlock was agitated, pacing along the pavement in front of the little country inn they stayed in. 'Why did you have to talk to her like that, to chat her up as if - '

'As if what?'

Sherlock stopped in front of John 'As if you were trying to _get off_ with her,' he said derisively.

'I did what?' John couldn't believe what he had just heard. 'Sherlock, I just _talked_ to her. We talked about the weather. You know, the good old English tradition of weather-speak?'

'Weather-speak?' Sherlock was sullen. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Well, you know: _Lovely day today, isn't it. Bit warm for the season. It'll probably rain tomorrow_. That sort of thing. It's just a conversation starter!'

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up and John knew this had been the wrong way of explaining it.

'Why would you want to start a conversation with her?'

'Just to be friendly.'

'Why?'

'To follow conversational rules.'

'Why?'

'Not to annoy her.'

'Why on earth not? What is she to you?'

'Nothing, Sherlock. Absolutely bloody nothing,' John was exasperated now, growing tired of this discussion.

'Then why talk to her at all?'

'Sherlock, what is it with you?

John reached out to touch his face. Feeling John's touch made Sherlock's anger pass, he sighed 'I don't know, John. It just bothered me so much.'

They had come to the countryside, to Lyndhurst in the middle of the New Forest, this afternoon. A case had taken them there. A particularly vicious double murder, involving two women in their thirties. Or so it had been explained excitedly by the local inspector on the phone. But Sherlock had looked into the case and had confidently and arrogantly stated after twenty minutes 'Straight forward domestic. Definitely not a crazed serial killer. Why on earth did you summon me? From London, for heaven's sake.'

'God, the ignorance I have to put up with!' had been his parting remark, endearing him to all those present.

Driving back to London had been out of the question so they had decided to take a room at this little country inn for the night.

Dinner had passed very pleasantly even though Sherlock had made a smug remark about how he had hoped to have made it clear that he was absolutely not the candlelit dinner-type.

After dinner Sherlock had gone up to their room to fetch a road map of the New Forest. Coming down into the lobby he had come upon John talking animatedly to the pretty young receptionist, smiling at her.

Sherlock had walked over to John and without a word had manhandled him out of the front door.

John, who appeared a bit shaken still, slightly tilted his head and looked at him enquiringly.

'Sherlock, what the hell was that? What's gotten into you? You cannot treat me like that. You must learn to -' he stopped himself, it was hard for him to go on 'If you can't get a grip, Sherlock, then - '

He let his words hang in the air. Sherlock was startled, he looked as if he had been struck.

'Don't John. Just don't say - ' And his voice broke.

He threw his arms around John and clung to him. John hugged him back, hard, not caring about the people who were just leaving the hotel and who looked at the two men with undisguised curiosity.

'Sherlock,' he softly said, 'You have to learn to control it.'

'I couldn't. It was driving me mad. You and this - I couldn't control myself.' Sherlock whispered close to John's ear.

'Sherlock,' John's voice grew intense. 'You have to keep your jealousy in reign. I cannot always be with you. I will be at work, shopping, in the library - whatever. You cannot control me or my life at all times, I will not let you do that. Love is not about control, it's about trust - Do you trust me, Sherlock?'

Sherlock remained silent; he was too confused to answer that question now.

'You do trust me, don't you?' John asked again, urgently.

Still no answer.

John broke off from their embrace and said 'If you don't trust me, Sherlock, what is there - ?'

He couldn't go on. He stared at Sherlock, waiting for an answer and when none came, turned and walked away from him.

'John, don't - ' Sherlock started after him, a look of panic on his face, but John didn't stop or turn around.

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><p>It was heartbreaking to let Sherlock standing there, to leave him behind, alone, in this state, but John felt that it had to be done. Because there had been signs before this evening that Sherlock was one of the jealous kind.<p>

Up to now it had been quite charming, the way Sherlock squirmed his way into every conversation. And John had hardly batted an eyelid when Sherlock had put his arm around his shoulders in a possessive way this once when they were at Scotland Yard in a meeting. Lestrade had raised an eyebrow, Anderson had looked as if he had swallowed an insect and Donovan had mouthed 'Freak' in his direction.

But this - manhandling him like a sack of potatoes. Humiliating him, again, in front others. It had been too much. And if Sherlock wasn't able to trust him -

There was absolutely no reason for him to act that way. He could be sure of John.

Sherlock, who was the most fascinating man ever to have crossed John's path. The man who made him laugh, who could break into a giggling fit like a schoolboy. The man whose brain he loved just as much as he loved his beautiful body.

But by God, he could be so infuriating.

And Sherlock was wrong, John thought. He had to get this through to him, he just had to.

He knew that he definitely wanted more of his annoying arrogance, his smugness, this way he had to put people in their place. Just like this afternoon. But he didn't want Sherlock to behave like a lovesick puppy.

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><p>Sherlock watched John walk away from him and felt a searing pain in his heart.<p>

Of course he knew what the _problem_ was. Theoretically.

He had been consulting all the relevant websites, he knew the definition of it by heart: _'Jealousy is the feeling of anger or bitterness which someone has when they think that another person is trying to take a lover, or a friend, or a possession, away from them'_.

Knowing that didn't help, though.

He knew that it was part of the package you get when you love, but nothing had prepared him for the onslaught of feelings he had to endure when he saw John with this pretty young woman. Sherlock had lost his coolness, his superiority, his smugness. He had acted like a fool.

Of course, it was because he loved so much. And it hadn't helped him then that he knew _he_ was loved. With all John's heart.

Sherlock started running after John, but he was gone. He turned around with hanging shoulders and slowly walked back to the inn.

He entered the deserted lobby and sat down in an old, battered leather chair, deliberately facing the receptionist who clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence. He glowered at her and she looked away. He rather liked that. He got out his phone and started fiddling with it.

A timid female voice disturbed him after a while.

'Excuse me. Could I talk to you for a second?'

It had taken the young receptionist all her courage to walk over to this dark, tall, handsome, but rather stern-looking man, who had literally carried off the smaller man she had been talking to under his arm.

'Hmm?' Sherlock felt offended that she had the gut to talk to him. No need to be polite then. He didn't even bother to look up from his phone.

The girl kneaded her hands, nervously, because he was so cold and because this wasn't the reaction she had expected.

'I couldn't help noticing the row you had with your friend.'

Sherlock glanced up at her. She took this as a sign of encouragement and continued. 'Because of me.' Sherlock scowled. She continued nonetheless.

'We were only talking, you know. _H_e was only talking really; about you. The whole time. What you do and how much he admires you. How clever you are -' she hesitated.

'I asked him if wanted to go for a pint later, with me and a few friends.'

Sherlock's gaze flew up to her and the woman hastened to add. 'He turned me down. He told me then that you were in fact more than friends,' she hesitated again, embarrassed that she had to play a part in this.

'He told me that he loves you.'

'Oh,' Sherlock softly said. Misinterpreting Sherlock's exclamation of surprise as distress she added naively 'See, there's no need to row.'

Sherlock couldn't help himself and stubbornly said 'I really don't see how that's any of your business.'

But as he shyly glanced up at the young woman he saw her embarrassment and in a friendlier voice he added 'Thank you. I appreciate that. It really means a lot to me.'

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><p>John decided that he deserved something to calm his nerves so he walked up the street to the nearest pub. He needed to collect his thoughts and more importantly he needed to give Sherlock time to sort out his.<p>

Being with Sherlock had taught him one thing: that most of the time best of all was to give him time to figure out a problem on his own.

John entered the pub, 'Lager, please,' paid for it and sat down in a corner with his back to the room. He didn't want to offer anyone the chance to talk to him.

It was late when John finally came back to their room at the inn. It was on the top floor overlooking the car park. When he opened the door he saw Sherlock standing at the half-open window. The room was quite warm so Sherlock had partly unbuttoned his shirt, which allowed John to see glimpses of his pale, lean chest.

'John!' Sherlock's eyes lit up when he saw him. John held up a hand to stop him from coming to him. Sherlock frowned.

John had stopped him because he wanted to stay alone, right where he was, close to the door until the matter was settled. He knew he would be defenseless should Sherlock come closer to him. Sherlock had that effect on him and by God he knew it.

The silence was full of tension.

'Sherlock, listen to me,' John finally said. 'Your behaviour in the lobby was absolutely out of order.' _Again_, he thought, but he didn't voice this sentiment. Sherlock seemed to have picked it up though because he looked rueful.

'I'm flattered and honoured and proud that you feel so protective towards me, but not everybody who talks to me or who I choose to talk to is a potential rival. In fact nobody is.'

Again Sherlock reacted to this and a smile flickered across his face.

'I want you to know that I trust you. And that you can trust me. Because you are my life. Because I love you. Because I would never hurt you. I have absolutely no interest in anybody else. In no other man and certainly in no woman.' His voice was urgent.

'Do you believe me?'

'Yes, I do,' Sherlock answered, his face serious, his eyes glittering in the dim light.

'Do you trust me?' John demanded again, hoping for an answer this time.

'With all my heart.' Sherlock replied.

Relief flooded through John and he closed his eyes for a moment.

So far Sherlock had respected John's wish to keep a distance between them, but now he moved closer. He slowly walked up to him, his shirt falling open, revealing his naked torso. Sherlock noticed it and couldn't help but grin mischievously. He positioned himself right in front of John.

'John, the receptionist told me,' he said.

'Did she?' John appeared nervous.

'She told me that she asked you out,' John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock put a finger on John's lips to stop him.

'She told me that she asked you out and that you turned her down.' He paused.

'You told her you love me.' Sherlock looked enquiringly at John, waiting for his reaction.

'Because it's true,' John simply said and that made Sherlock extremely happy and proud because for once John had indeed not cared about the opinion of others.

There was one more thing, though, Sherlock wanted to get off his chest.

'When you were gone I had time to think about my _problem_. And I think I found an answer for it that I can absolutely live with.'

'Right,' John went. 'What kind of answer?'

'It's quite obvious when you start thinking about it.' Sherlock paused for effect.

'Tell me.'

'Well, I figured out that why for heaven's sake should you be interested in anybody else,' he paused, 'if you can have _me_?'

John guffawed, the tension of the evening draining away from him. Sherlock's face fairly lit up when he smiled.

After a moment Sherlock took a few more steps towards John forcing him to back up against the door. He locked eyes with him and said 'You gave me such a fright when you walked away. Don't do that again.'

Sherlock's eyes never left John's when he started to caress his shoulders, his chest, his arms. Up and down. Moving slowly, tenderly.

His fingers moved further down towards John's hips, tilting them towards his own. Sherlock nipped at his lips, pressed his mouth on John's, slipping in his tongue, kissing him and John kissed him back. He moaned and moved against Sherlock's hips.

They moved together. Slowly.

They exhaled, inhaled, gasped and found that their breathing was in perfect harmony.

Just like their hearts.


End file.
